ahead.
He made it to the
studio floor.
The sadomasochism set
was in use. A black man was being pushed back against the wall
which now looked like it was made from clay. He shrieked and
juddered every time one of the black, rubber clad Punishers touched
his skin against it. “Please. Stop. I didn’t do anything.” One of
the Punishers pressed him against the clay with a boot to the
chest, holding him against the wall as he shook and juddered. Was
it electrified? Was the wet clay giving an electric shock?
Brian noticed that the
two camera operators filming the action were both men, as was the
only other person in the studio. This third man called out, “Okay,
that’s probably enough. Bring him forward and hang him up, I want
you to try electrocuting his cock and balls. See what it looks
like.”
The Punishers nodded,
but the black man screamed out. “Why the fuck are you doing this?
Let me go. Please. Let me go. I won’t tell them nothin’ man, I
won’t press charges. Please. Jesus. Jesus. Stop. Fucking Stop!” The
Punishers dragged him along the floor and clipped a karabiner from
a winch cable to his wrist cuffs and began hoisting him high. As
his feet began to lift from the floor he started screaming again.
“Stop! Stop! Why are you doing this, man? I did nothing to you.”
Tears streamed from his eyes. One of the Punishers brought over
jump cables, ordinary vehicular jump cables. For effect he sparked
them together ahead of the prisoner sending a flash of electrical
sparks through the air.
Brian walked out of the
studio. He kept his head down. He made his footsteps light. He left
the room without being seen by the filmmakers.
The first floor had
changed. The corridor was now emblazoned with signs saying Consec
Security. Brian looked inside the first room to see a metal cage
had been assembled turning the office into a prison cell. He looked
to the next office and found another cage. In the third room he
found a cage with a woman in a light-blue hospital gown curled into
a foetal position, her back to him. She was a prisoner. Really a
prisoner.
This wasn’t acted…
This was real…
He backed away and went
for the staircase, up to the first floor and the editing bay. In
the first room he found the equipment had been upgraded. The
latest, broadcast quality under-scan monitors were built into
racks. Every screen had one of his Veraceo detectors attached ahead
of it. They had been refined, showing whether the TV signal
contained Veraceo-One, Veraceo-Two or was a clean signal. A piece
of equipment in a rack mount caught his attention. He’d never seen
it before but he recognised the instrument panel immediately. It
was a Veraceo-Two signal generator, no longer looking like hacked
electronics, now it was a custom built piece of broadcast
hardware.
Then he saw the most
damning offering this place had to offer. U-matic video cassettes.
The label on them said the title ‘Videodrome’ with an episode
number. There were twelve of them. When he picked up the cassette
he found a red ribbon hanging from the plastic hole that prevented
accidental erasure. On the ribbon was the legend, ‘Veraceo-2
ARMED’, followed by the ominous warning, ‘Optical Radiation – Risk
of Death – No Safe Limit’.
Videodrome… a cassette
labelled Videodrome that carried a red ribbon saying it was armed
with Veraceo-Two.
There was a noise at
the door. Somebody called his name. “Brian?” It was Peter Fluorite.
“Jesus, Brian you’ve lost weight. How are you feeling?”
“I’m getting
stronger... I came to find information on a test subject from
Toronto, a girl.” He held up one of the U-matic cassettes, “But I
found this.”
Fluorite leaned against
the doorframe and nodded. He grimaced slightly. “I was told you
were off the project. Barry Convex told me you were recovering from
chemotherapy.”
“That’s right, I am
recovering. I’m still with the project but I’m not fully in the
loop. What is this? What is
He made it to the
studio floor.
The sadomasochism set
was in use. A black man was being pushed back against the wall
which now looked like it was made from clay. He shrieked and
juddered every time one of the black, rubber clad Punishers touched
his skin against it. “Please. Stop. I didn’t do anything.” One of
the Punishers pressed him against the clay with a boot to the
chest, holding him against the wall as he shook and juddered. Was
it electrified? Was the wet clay giving an electric shock?
Brian noticed that the
two camera operators filming the action were both men, as was the
only other person in the studio. This third man called out, “Okay,
that’s probably enough. Bring him forward and hang him up, I want
you to try electrocuting his cock and balls. See what it looks
like.”
The Punishers nodded,
but the black man screamed out. “Why the fuck are you doing this?
Let me go. Please. Let me go. I won’t tell them nothin’ man, I
won’t press charges. Please. Jesus. Jesus. Stop. Fucking Stop!” The
Punishers dragged him along the floor and clipped a karabiner from
a winch cable to his wrist cuffs and began hoisting him high. As
his feet began to lift from the floor he started screaming again.
“Stop! Stop! Why are you doing this, man? I did nothing to you.”
Tears streamed from his eyes. One of the Punishers brought over
jump cables, ordinary vehicular jump cables. For effect he sparked
them together ahead of the prisoner sending a flash of electrical
sparks through the air.
Brian walked out of the
studio. He kept his head down. He made his footsteps light. He left
the room without being seen by the filmmakers.
The first floor had
changed. The corridor was now emblazoned with signs saying Consec
Security. Brian looked inside the first room to see a metal cage
had been assembled turning the office into a prison cell. He looked
to the next office and found another cage. In the third room he
found a cage with a woman in a light-blue hospital gown curled into
a foetal position, her back to him. She was a prisoner. Really a
prisoner.
This wasn’t acted…
This was real…
He backed away and went
for the staircase, up to the first floor and the editing bay. In
the first room he found the equipment had been upgraded. The
latest, broadcast quality under-scan monitors were built into
racks. Every screen had one of his Veraceo detectors attached ahead
of it. They had been refined, showing whether the TV signal
contained Veraceo-One, Veraceo-Two or was a clean signal. A piece
of equipment in a rack mount caught his attention. He’d never seen
it before but he recognised the instrument panel immediately. It
was a Veraceo-Two signal generator, no longer looking like hacked
electronics, now it was a custom built piece of broadcast
hardware.
Then he saw the most
damning offering this place had to offer. U-matic video cassettes.
The label on them said the title ‘Videodrome’ with an episode
number. There were twelve of them. When he picked up the cassette
he found a red ribbon hanging from the plastic hole that prevented
accidental erasure. On the ribbon was the legend, ‘Veraceo-2
ARMED’, followed by the ominous warning, ‘Optical Radiation – Risk
of Death – No Safe Limit’.
Videodrome… a cassette
labelled Videodrome that carried a red ribbon saying it was armed
with Veraceo-Two.
There was a noise at
the door. Somebody called his name. “Brian?” It was Peter Fluorite.
“Jesus, Brian you’ve lost weight. How are you feeling?”
“I’m getting
stronger... I came to find information on a test subject from
Toronto, a girl.” He held up one of the U-matic cassettes, “But I
found this.”
Fluorite leaned against
the doorframe and nodded. He grimaced slightly. “I was told you
were off the project. Barry Convex told me you were recovering from
chemotherapy.”
“That’s right, I am
recovering. I’m still with the project but I’m not fully in the
loop. What is this? What is
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